She's Lost Control
by almondgirl3
Summary: In her early twenties, Bella is on her own, the Cullens having left after The Incident-her 18th birthday. She is watched and followed—and then taken. No longer in control of her own story, all she can do is hope to ally herself with the one who now writes it. OOC. Canon and non-canon pairings. Dark with romance along the way. Volturi. Volterra.


**I won't ruin the story or restrict its natural journey by disclosing pairings. What I will say is that it revolves around Bella, as most fics do. Darkly powerful and mysterious, the Volturi also has a strong presence. Edward is not villainised. And…I'd say there's a very strong chance for violence and sex, maybe even sexual violence—not sure.**

**Twilight's not mine. Duh.**

* * *

She knew it was useless but she did it all the same, weaving a backwards path to her lonely house, circling around the town before cutting through it; taking a left turn followed by a right and then another until she slowly lead herself towards her street. Panic would tell her it was too soon. That time and darkness needed to be greater before she let herself walk through the door. That as long as she didn't sit still, she'd be left alone.

She made it almost two hours before anxiety relented and her eyes began to feel the heavy weight of sleep. As she drove down her street, only half lit by the lights that still worked, her mind continued to play the string of words over and over again. With each circuit the noise became more, like a child trying to change their mother's mind.

_If he was one of them, he'd have come for me already._

_If he was one of them, he'd have come for me already._

_If he was one of them, he'd have come for me already._

She turned into the driveway and yanked the break. Her hand lingered on the key after she turned off the ignition.

One side of the building was alive. The curtains of one window lit with a soft glow that seemed to dance. The television was on, but she guessed that Emilia had fallen asleep in her chair. The other window was completely dark.

The second step creaked as she walked onto the porch and the sensor light flicked on. She had her key ready, its notched spine thrust forward like a tiny knife. She opened her door and slipped inside, flicking the light on before the door swung back to rest in its frame.

She squinted against the harsh light. A crooked smile stretched her lips when she saw Lola do the same, so she turned on a lamp before going back to the door and flicking off the main switch. Digging through her bag, she found her lighter and lit the stick of incense that so much reminded her of her mother. She cupped the tip and blew at it, feeling a small sense of safety in how it glowed. She watched as a thin line of smoke rose like a ribbon in the air.

At last, she dropped her bag from her shoulder. It landed with a clunk on the floor and her phone skidded out from the inside pocket she always stashed it in. She mumbled sweet words as she squatted down in front of the couch, her small hands reaching out to glide along Lola's soft fur. The cat welcomed her with a purred rumble and stretched out with a slow curl of her limbs.

She stayed there a while, rubbing behind her ears and asking about her day. She didn't want to leave the safe light and comforting musk. To move would be to venture off into unknown territory and the words on repeat hadn't made her brave enough yet.

* * *

A dull pain made her eyes flutter open. Her need for the bathroom was forgotten when her eyes saw nothing but darkness.

_Maybe there's a blackout…_

Her heart pulsing against her ribcage told her that there was no blackout. It told her that someone had crept inside and turned off the lamp. They had been close enough to touch her.

Fear sparked her heart like a lit match but she sat still, almost daring the shadow to reach out and grab her.

She turned on the lamp.

_No blackout._

She tried to hear past the thunderous beat of excited blood. She tried to take comfort in the awkward way her cat slept. She told herself that Lola would know if someone else were inside.

She pulled herself to her feet. She waited for the shadow to catch her. But the room never moved.

A few moments passed, her body as still as fear could keep her until she couldn't hear the beat of blood in her ears. She left the lounge and rounded the bench that separated it from the kitchen. She winced as the drawer squeaked. She let silence hang the air before reaching for Courage.

With a knife held in the fist of a small hand, she looked down the short hall to the bathroom. It was a dead end, both doors closed. She took a deep breath and ventured forth.

When she reached her bedroom, her hand shot out, betraying her light footsteps, and jerked the handle. The door clicked open.

Her phone began to ring. The tone was soothing—that was why she had chosen it—but it cut the air and pulled a scream from her lips. The melody played again, urging her to answer.

She muttered a curse and took a step backward. The melody stopped short. Whoever it was decided they didn't need her.

She looked back at the open door and toed it open. It swung inside and she quickly turned on the light. She flinched when she heard her phone beep: An alert for an empty voicemail. Her room was just the same. Missing her night-time intruder, her room was a mess of clothes. She had meant to do laundry yesterday, her only day off, but there were still remnants of days past strung about the room, both dirty and clean. She'd just wash them all.

The phone rang again.

She screwed her eyes shut. Her fingers fanned out from the knife's handle and re-gripped leaving her room. When she re-entered the living area her footsteps faltered. The call's melody drew her gaze to the bench.

_But my phone was…_

She looked at her bag. It lay slumped on the floor where it had fallen. The phone rang again, thrumming a beat against the countertop.

The circuit of words she had been playing in her head as she had driven through the streets had almost begun to work. The darkness when she had awoken had been a small scratch that had caused the voice to skip. But the phone, squirming on the bench as it vibrated was something else. A scar next to a scratch. It tripped the needle and broke the spell.

_If he-have come._

_One of them-for me._

_He-come-already._

But the cat slept still. Legs splayed with a paw cast over her face. The shadow, for it was here, had not woken her. He was deathly quiet. And her phone was a siren. _Was it always that loud? Or did the quiet do that?_

Her footsteps were decided as she moved towards it. And then like a game, the call stopped.

_Unknown._

It wasn't her father like she had first hoped.

She pulled her hand away and the melody began again. Her hand hovered above it for a moment before she swiped the screen and held it to her ear. She waited. Her breath sounded like static.

'_It's peaceful, isn't it?'_ The voice was slow and dark. It sounded of another world. The fear felt like flames under her skin.

She licked her lips and whispered into the receiver. 'What is?'

'_Death.'_

The fire spread.

'I don't-'

'_Understand?'_ He hummed softly. '_Yes, you do.'_

The way he spoke reminded her of how people talked to children and animals.

'_Have you solved it yet, kitten?'_

She looked at the couch, her hand trembling.

_She's asleep._

_She's asleep._

_Shesasleepshesasleepshesasleep._

But watching her now, carefully, not even moving, not even breathing, she saw that Lola wasn't moving either. No rise and fall as she breathed. No twitch as she dreamed and chased bugs and birds. Her limbs were awkward—but it wasn't in sleep. Her body lay there discarded.

He spoke again, calling her name. It sounded so faraway. She pressed the phone against her ear.

'_Good. Now just stay on the line.'_

Her eyes left the couch and moved to the windows. The light had made her safe. It had showed her she was alone, that no one else was inside her house. But it had made her blind to whatever was outside it. She ran to the lamp and turned it off.

He made an appreciative noise. '_You're getting better.'_

'Who are you?'

'_You don't know?'_ he asked, giving pause. '_Well, this _will _be interesting.'_

His light laugh gave her chills.

'_The next part is a bit more…_involved _on your end.'_

A moment passed.

'_No more questions?'_ he asked. '_Mm, I suppose you're frightened of the answers. That makes sense. But you'll get them soon enough, kitten.'_

She winced at the endearment. It squeezed tears from her eyes and wet her cheeks. She wiped them away.

'_You look beautiful when you cry—but enough of that, you must get going.'_

The nausea at his compliment was pushed aside.

'Go where?'

He didn't answer at first, seeming to think on her question.

'_The national park. There's parking not too far away,'_ he said finally. '_You know the one?'_

'Y-yes...'

'_Go there. Now.'_

She stared at the screen when she realised he'd disconnected the call. Indecision gripped her.

_You should call someone._

_Charlie._

_The police._

_The— _

She didn't have their number. She didn't have anything of theirs. Not an address. Not an email. Not even a photograph.

_Would you contact them if you could? If you had a way, would you ask for their help?_

Her phone lit up before she heard the alert.

_Unknown_.

There was no excerpt of his message. He'd sent her an image.

Her stomach dropped as they loaded.

In the first, she recognised her outfit from almost a week ago. She was getting into her car.

In the next, she was waiting in line at the cafe down the block from where she worked.

The next was taken from inside the bookstore. She sat hunched behind the counter with her nose in a book.

The last stopped her breath. She felt dizzy. Her ears were ringing.

From the angle she could tell it had been taken from her bedroom door. She had fallen asleep reading and the book was held open against her stomach, her small breasts unhidden.

She looked to the window onto the porch, then to the one above the kitchen sink.

Her phone vibrated in her hand and made another noise.

She looked down just as the next image finished loading.

There, bent down at her front door, was Emilia, the lady who lived next door and who always fell asleep in front of her TV. Her arm was outstretched as she rubbed behind Lola's ears.

_We are not known for our patience - V._

The message was a sucker punch to the gut, just as it was intended. She stuffed her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and bundled Lola up in her jacket. She swallowed down the low keening that bubbled up from her chest and grabbed her keys.

* * *

She kept Lola in her lap as she drove, an arm cradling her when she didn't need both to steer.

When she saw the V at the end of the message her mind had immediately pulled at a name. Victoria.

But she'd spoken to a man. And the message had said "We".

_But there had been another…_

The one that warned Carlisle about James.

Laurent.

_Was _he _part of the _we_?_

There was something else though… Something hidden so well, wrapped tight in a haze of memory and dream that she couldn't hold onto it to see its face.

Gravel crunched beneath the tires as she entered the parking lot. The brake clicked as she pulled it up. She turned off the ignition. Her phone vibrated and sounded off in her pocket. She twisted in the seat and pulled it from her jeans.

_Walk._

The forest was a dark wall against the sky. The tips of the trees brushed the clouds and the moon was just a sliver of its greater self.

She reached into the car and flicked the headlights on, shutting the door. The light might lie, but she needed it.

She had always loved the scent of the forest. The earth, the leaves, the wood—they all had such subtle aromas. But none would calm her this night. Trembling as the wind bit her skin, she held Lola to her chest. The gravel turned to sticks and leaves. They broke under her feet.

Shadows danced between the trees as she walked away from her car and into the forest, the beaten path as her guide. Her phone made no noise from its home in her back pocket and she wondered whether her caller knew and was giving her time. It made her angry, but the cold window slowly pushed at that fire until it became only embers.

After a while, when the light from the car had become so splintered by trees that she could barely see, she stopped and knelt down on the forest floor. Gently, she placed the jacketed-cat on the dirt and began to dig.

The earth was cold but she couldn't tell if it was wet. Rain hadn't visited in over a week. It wasn't long before her fingers turned numb, but she continued to paw at sticks and stones and leaves and dirt until a Lola-sized pile lay next to a cat-sized hole. Dirty fingers tucked hair behind an ear and she reached for her cat, folding it gently inside her jacket before laying her down. She brushed her fingers against the cat's brow, whispering soft words. And then, for a time, she sat there in the cold dirt, her body shivering against the wind.

Her phone sounded strange in amongst the song of the forest. She ignored it as it vibrated in her pocket, instead doing what she knew the message would tell her. With two hands, she filled the cat's coffin and told herself Lola would like it there very much.

The dull pain from earlier revisited her, the reminder more urgent. Her bladder was tight and burning. She looked around, searching for a spot when the forest started to crackle. Twigs snapped and leaves crunched, the sound moving and all around her.

Fumbling, her hands gripping the earth as she pushed up, she stood protector of her cat's grave.

The noises ceased and only the rustle of wind in leaves could be heard.

She waited, the embers of her rage coming to meet her fear as they continued to play with her. It made her skin hot against the cold night. And then, she couldn't feel it at all.

Her scream wasn't fast enough against the hard grip of a hand over her mouth. Another banded her torso. She pushed back against the body, her panic rising when she realised its strength.

And then humiliation swept over her as she felt warmth flood down her legs.

A laugh barked from within the shadows.

'Not even toilet trained?'

Hands jostled her as they remade their hold. Their owner spoke above her head. 'I've heard it can happen in fear.'

'Yes, well...you wanted to play. So you're cleaning it up.'


End file.
